Come and Find Me
by 50ftQueenie
Summary: If Dallas ever thought we had a connection, he had little or no evidence to prove it existed. All he had was stories and Dally never was much of a talker.
1. Chapter 1

SE Hinton owns them.

**Come and Find Me**

_You don't know it's right until it's wrong_

_You don't know it's yours until it's gone_

_-Josh Ritter_

July 1965

The name of the town is Corona, and that's exactly what the Army blamed the UFO sightings on. Coronas or solar flares- it's a bullshit story being as the UFO sightings were all at night. It's that inconsistency, I'd guess, that kept the legends and rumors alive. People ain't stupid. Coronas are best visible during an eclipse anyway. The sightings here were in July, 1947 and the eclipse wasn't until November of that year- the year I turned three and my little brother was born.

My little brother was born in November around the time of the eclipse. Our ma tried to make like that was something special. No matter that thousands of babies must have been born all over the world at the same time. She never gave up on the idea that he was destined for something great. She went to her grave believing it. As far as I was concerned, my little brother was destined only to become an ever-greater pain in my ass.

After a point, I tried my best to take a hint from that rumored UFO and vanish. If Dallas ever thought we had a connection, he had little or no evidence to prove it existed. He didn't have pictures of the two of us together. His dad and mine weren't the same, so he didn't have a witness. All he had was stories, and Dally was never much of a talker. I doubt he ever told anyone about me.

He did have an uncanny ability to find me, though, whenever he was in jail. Maybe I'm too much of a creature of habit. I tend to be working the same places and blowing my pay in the same bars year after year. I have a circuit and it's become predictable to him. Up north all spring, down to here to Corona in the late summer, spend my winters in Texas where the rodeo never ends. He knows this. He's come with me a few times, although that's been years ago now. He was more helpful when he was a little kid- didn't talk back so much. One he got it in his head that he knew enough on his own, he quit trying to learn anymore. He still had a lot to learn, I thought. That was the crux of our disagreement- the one that finally drove us apart.

He always finds me. He always has to ask: will I bail him out? I can't imagine he'd ask anyone he'd have to see on a daily basis. He wouldn't be able to look them in the eye and ask for money. Me, he doesn't have to see ever again if he don't want to so he has no qualms about asking.

"Phone call, Winston," the bartender waves the receiver at me. He may have taken this call before- a year or two ago? I've been in this bar before. It's the only one in Corona. The walls are covered with clippings of the crash, photographs of the supposed space craft framed all half-assed, as well as a few artists' renditions. I like the ones in the diner across the street better. Maybe they look less menacing or less real in the brighter light. Don't matter. The diner closed at six. There's no place to be but the bar.

I nod thanks and take the receiver.

"Yeah?"

"Hey, man, what's going on?" He's resistant- like he is with everything else- to letting go of that New York accent. We only lived there a couple of years. Maybe he was younger and more impressionable than me and that's why he picked it up. I sure didn't. As long as Dal's been stuck in Tulsa, you'd think he'd have lost it by now.

"You tell me."

"Ah, I got thrown in. They said 90 days, but I got a couple of fines. If I pay 'em off, they'll let me go in sixty."

"And then what?"

"What do mean 'and then what'?"

"And then what are you going to do? You still going to school?"

I know the answer to that question. He hisses a negative.

"So, in sixty to ninety days, you ain't going back to school. You going to work?"

"Maybe. Either way, I got time to think about it. What do you say, man? I'll lose my fuckin' mind…huh? Yeah, yeah, sorry," he answers to what I assume is a chastising for his language from some employee of the jail. "I'll lose it, man, if I got to stay locked up that long."

There is just a hint of genuine desperation in his voice. I can't blame him. I got thrown in for a week and a half once for fighting and it about did me in. I got so bored I started talking to the priests and the Seventh Day Adventists when they came. First day in, the other guys told me I'd cave and let the Bible-beaters talk to me. I said no way in hell. Three days gone and I was all ears.

"How much?" I ask him. I've never given him a dime before, but I always ask. It's like a barometer of how serious his crime is. Are we taking a few bucks? Hundreds? A thousand?

"Eighty-five," he says.

"Well, that's hardly the big time, is it?"

"Yeah, what have you ever done that's lit up the sky like the fourth of July?"

I smile. Even in his desperate condition, he can't stop himself from insulting me. He has a gift for it and he doesn't reserve it for me alone.

"You ain't answered my question, Dal," I tell him before he can dig himself in any deeper. "What are you going to do when you get out?"

"I don't know. I got some friends- they work. They'll help me find something."

"You got friends?"

"Bite me. Yeah, I got friends."

"Got a girl?"

"Yeah." But he doesn't sound entirely sure. I know that kind of girl. I'd pray for my little brother if I was the praying kind.

"She knocked up?"

"No." He's incredulous, which means he probably doesn't know. It hadn't occurred to him. Now that it has, it's going to wear on his mind for sixty to ninety days.

I look around the bar. My brother's New York accent is jarring when I'm standing in a joint like this. It probably sounds out of place in the jail in the town where he's at too. I look at one of the photographs on the wall- the UFO in a hanger down by Roswell. Dally's just as out of place in a cell up in Tulsa. From the rush in his voice, he sounds like he could just about shoot up through the roof and fly away out of sight before they could shoot him down. He's scared.

"Eighty-five bucks, huh?" I say. "And they'll spring you after sixty?"

"Yeah, that's what the judge said."

Christ, he had to appear. Usually he just pleads and they throw him on in. He's moving up in this world and careening towards the next.

"I think I got that. In fact, I know I do. Won it in a poker game." I have to get that in. Dally was never any good at poker. Didn't have the patience for it.

"Ain't you some kind of shark? You think you could send it up here?"

I look around the bar again. There's only ranch hands and old men. No women here to spend my money on. It's September- getting to be time to head towards Texas.

"I'm about to hit the road again," I tell him. "How's about I deliver it in person? That way I can see that you're actually getting set up with that job. Call it a return on my investment."

"You don't have to do that. I know a guy, I told you…"

"Yeah, you got friends. Congratulations."

"I got a friend who lets me ride for him."

"He let you ride five days a week? You get dental with that?"

Dally snorts but keeps himself from cussing.

"I guess, Galen, if you want."

I'd never tell him, but I do want to for some reason. I haven't seen my little brother in almost three years. Last time I seen him, he was almost fourteen and thinking he could back me up in a fight. He was so short- the offer was laughable until he started swinging. If he's grown even an inch or two, I'll bet he's a force to be reckoned with.

"City or county?" I ask him.

"It's the same building."

"Alright then. It'll take me a couple of days. I ain't got my truck. I'll have to thumb it, but probably in a couple of days. Don't go running off now."

"Very funny."

"Yeah, well it won't be funny if you don't spend your next damned phone call lining up a job. You better have news for me when I get there."

"I'll do my damnedest," he says.

"You always do, don't you?"

I hang up the phone and look around at the bar. I can jump in with a cattle driver in the morning. I'll even have time for breakfast first, if I ain't too hung over and feel like eating. I finish off my beer and set the glass down hard enough on the bar to raise the bartender. He pours me another and I get to work on that hangover.


	2. Chapter 2

SE Hinton owns the characters and settings from The Outsiders.

a/n: I fine-tuned chapter one a little, so you may want to skim over it again. I don't think I changed any major details, but hopefully it flows more smoothly.

a/n #2: The question is asked why Dally and Galen have the same last name if they have different fathers. Fair question. Winston is their mother's maiden name and she never married either father.

**Come and Find Me- Two**

I go to the bar first thing because I have issues, as my former girlfriend (probably all of them) would put it. Not the finest bar in Tulsa nor the cheapest either. It's the closest bar- poking up out of the dry ground on the edge of the stock yards. I could stand on the front step- underneath the swinging sign that reads "Buck's"- throw a rock, and hit the bleachers of the rodeo arena, and that's just the way I like it

The door opens just as I reach the top of the concrete steps. I hold it open for a girl to step through. She gives me a nod, but doesn't make eye contact. She has a huge pregnant belly, two black eyes, and a broken nose. The bruises are fresh. Whoever hit her is a south paw- her nose is curved to the right like an open parenthesis. Judging from her waddle, the baby is due any day.

"Ma'am," I mumble to her. I'm not expecting a reply and she obliges me with silence. Her long dark hair almost reaches to her waist. She isn't wearing a ring or carrying a purse. She has the hips of a teenager.

It's my inclination to help her down the steps. She has to take them one at a time, but she's adept enough at it by herself. Before I can shake off my tightness in my gut, she's reached the dry gravel of the parking lot. I watch her and it calls to mind my brother and the girl who may or may not be his girlfriend. I hope to shit this isn't her. I'd finally have to kill him.

When she's got into her truck and pulled away on the main road, I continue on my way inside. It's dark at midday and at first all my eyes can see is the neon signs collected about the room, blinking at me like the eyes of animals in a dark cave. The rest of room takes shape around them. The walls are paneled and the floor is hardwood. I might as well be shut up in a box full of liquor and smoke. That's just fine by me, too.

I look around the room and realize I'm seeking out whoever the pregnant girl was here to see. The men drinking in the corner are too old for her. That leaves the bartender. I step up to the bar and sneak a look at his knuckles when he puts his towels down and asks me what I'll have. There's a deep burn on his left hand on the tender flesh between his thumb and forefinger. He's a roper and right-handed.

I ask him for a shot and a bottle of Coke. We agree that it's fucking hot outside. I ask about finding a room, and he tells me there's a couple upstairs.

"You here for the rodeo?" He asks.

"Nope. Not this time around. I'm looking for someone. Maybe you know him?"

He smirks when I give him my brother's name. I take that as a 'yes'. It's a fairly friendly, even sentimental reaction, considering Dally's reputation for raising Cain. I mentioned his name once to a guy in Laredo and had to duck to miss the swing I got for a reply.

"You seen him of late?" I ask the bartender.

"Not lately," he says. "Only ones seen him lately is the Counties downtown, and maybe his girl."

He pours my shot and I toss it back in the time it takes him to pop the top off the Coke bottle.

"I passed a girl on my way in…" I offer, dreading whatever he might have to say about the pregnant girl.

The bartender shakes his head. "Lorelei? No, that ain't her. She's a whole 'nuther…No, I don't know where Sylvia's got off to, but she'll be back tonight. She always turns up. You want a room, then?"

I tell him I do want a room. He fishes for a key under the register, tosses it to me, and jerks his head towards a flight of stairs to his left.

"It's the second door. WC's at the end of the hall. Sheets ought to be clean. Can't really attest to the rest of it. How long you staying?"

I shake my head at him and loop the key ring around my finger.

"Can't tell yet. Need to find my way downtown first and find myself something to eat."

The bartender rattles off a few places that he deems sufficient dining. I've about had all the grill and grease I can stand on my trip up here. I'm looking for something home-cooked, but he doesn't know of any of that to recommend. I thank him anyway and take my Coke and my bag up the stairs to dump on my bed.

* * *

><p>She hasn't made it far, but she wouldn't have made it any farther walking. That most likely would have sent her in to labor. I remember my mom talking about that- when women get far enough along the best thing for them is to walk. She said she never would have any baby in any hospital where she was made to lie still on a bed with a needle in her back.<p>

The girl with the long, dark hair is sitting in her truck with the driver's side door open. She's facing outward, leaning back with her hands resting on the seat behind her. In her boredom, she's braided her hair and it's swung over her shoulder like a vine. Her positioning makes her belly look even larger. In the bright sunlight, the bruises under her eyes are washed out and hardly visible.

She pulls herself up against the steering column to sit straight. I look up and down the road in either direction and then jog across to her side.

"Having some trouble?" I ask her. From the looks of her, she's having a lot more than 'some'.

She doesn't answer until I'm up to the side of the truck. Then she ducks her eyes again.

"Out of gas?" I take my best shot. I'm not mechanical, but I'm better than some.

The girl shakes her head. "It does this. The lights come on and then it quits. No brakes or nothing. Just rolls till she quits."

"Where's your old man?" I ask.

She shrugs.

"Mind if I take a look?" I ask her because I don't know what else to do. She ain't going to walk into town and I ain't going to carry her. I might as well fiddle under the hood until someone with a real head for cars comes along.

The girl reaches underneath the wheel and pulls the lever to pop the hood.

I hop around to the front. My old man used to say that 99% of car repairs could be resolved by jiggling the wires. He said most relationship woes could be taken care of in the same way. My old man was a dirty-minded son of a bitch, but he was funny. I only met Dally's dad a couple of times. He was a son of a bitch, too, but not at all funny.

The clamp on the battery terminal is corroded and loose. I pour the last couple of swallows of Coke from my bottle over the terminal and watch it fizz. When it quits bubbling, I flick the rest away with my finger and tighten up the clamp. I call to the girl to crank it over.

The engine fires and I slam the hood shut, feeling more than a little bit pleased with myself.

"How'd you do that?" She leans out through the door and calls to me. "What'd you do to it?"

"Coke and a smile. That's all it takes sometimes."

She might smile a little at that, herself, but I'm not in time to catch it. When I come around to the side to shut the door for her, she turns her head to look out the front again.

"I ain't got any money," she says.

"I could use a ride into town," I tell her. "And your recommendation on a decent place to eat."

"I can give you a ride, but I can't help you out with the food. Only decent place to eat in this town is my place, and the neighbors'll rat me out if they see you going in."

I nod. I tell her I'll take the ride.

She doesn't like me looking at her, so I try to avoid it as we ride towards bowels of the city. I already know her name, and she doesn't ask for mine. I suspect the mention of the best food being at her place is an invitation of some sort, but I don't understand why she'd want to make more trouble for herself. Maybe she's looking for someone to stand up for her. I've rarely turned down the offer of a fight over a pretty girl, but I have no idea what I'd do with this pretty girl when the brawl was over. Instead, I ask the question that I know will put a little distance between me and her:

"So, who tuned you up, if I can ask?"

"You mean this?" She pats her belly. "Or my face?"

"I figured it was the same."

She nods. "His family don't like me. They're afraid the baby'll look like me, have my nose. I guess he figured he'd flatten mine out and take care of that for me. Don't know what he thinks that's going to do for the baby, though."

"You married to him?"

"Yeah, and I got oil money, so he ain't leaving any time soon."

I've heard about the Osages and their oil money. I've heard about the men who marry the Osage women, too, wanting in on it. It's the same story up north with the Assiniboines and their range land. In New Mexico, they leave the Indian girls alone because they don't have shit that the white men want.

I take small comfort in knowing that- if her old man kills her- he's out her oil money. He can't inherit Indian land. His baby can, though, I remind myself. Maybe he can kill her after all.

I look at her again. She's aware of it. She taps her fingers on the gearshift.

"Where do you need to go?"

"Jail."

"Figures," she mumbles.

"What's that supposed to mean? I ain't turning myself in for nothing. My brother's locked up. I'm thinking about bailing him."

"Thinking about it?"

"I ain't decided yet. Thought I'd go see him and decide for myself how much of a danger to society he is."

She smiles.

"My old man's in, too. That's why I got the truck. Tell him Lorelei says 'hi' and that she's driving all over hell and back putting miles on his truck."

"You old man ain't named Dallas, is he?"

"Nope," she says and shakes her head. "Robert. Your brother's Dallas?"

"Yeah, you know him?"

"I heard the name before," she says. She doesn't say any more about it. She doesn't say anything more at all until we pull up in front of County and she yanks back the emergency brake.

"I thank you, Loralei," I tell her. "You put a couple hundred miles on for me, will you?"

"I plan to. Good luck with your brother."

I thank her again and get out of the truck. I shut the door, knock on the side of the bed, and tip my hat to her. She drives away without looking at me again and without my ever getting to ask who she was looking for at Buck's.


	3. Chapter 3

SE Hinton owns Dally and the inhabitants of Buck's.

**Come and Find Me- Three**

He doesn't stand to greet me when I'm led into the visiting room, but I was hardly expecting flowers and a warm embrace. He does gift me with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. He might be taller than the last time I saw him, but not much. He's filled out some. I bet he could pack a hell of a punch. I hope he's not dumb enough to try and prove it to me in here.

"Dal," I say.

"Galen," he replies.

I take that as an invitation to sit down across the table from him. He's been leaning back on his chair with one foot- in sock- resting on the table. I brush it off and he lets his chair drop on to all four of its feet.

"Nice place you got here."

"Don't let it fool you," he says. "It's lacking a woman's touch. Same as me."

"Well, I'm sure somebody back in holding could help you out there. Can I ask what brought you here?"

"You first," he says.

He's got to be curious, and I'm a little curious about that myself. I couldn't lay my finger on what had me wanting to leave Corona and hitch it all the way up here to see him. Now that I'm here, I'm even less sure.

Dally was always a punk of a kid. Even when he was little, it seemed like he did things on purpose just to be bad. Not that I'm looking at being nominated for sainthood any time soon. I was just always smarter about laying low. My indiscretions always had purpose- or so I told myself- and I'd like to think I grew out of most of it. I remind myself that he's still seventeen, and I try to remember what seventeen was like. It doesn't help. I was graduated from high school and working dawn to dusk on a ranch when I was his age.

"Like I said," I stick to my story. "I want some return on my investment. I want to know that, if I lay my money down, you ain't going to be calling me in two weeks needing me to do this all over again."

"How kind of you to take such an interest in my future." He's making reference to a time a few years back when I suggested that he didn't have one. He knows I remember.

"Sixty to ninety days. How much you got through so far?"

He shrugs. "About a week."

"You talked to those friends yet? The ones you said could get you a job?"

He rolls his eyes.

"I didn't say they could get me a job. I said they have jobs."

"Well, that's not quite the same thing, Dal. I believe I told you I wanted you to call around and line something up. If you did that, I'd spring you."

"And I told you I've been here a week. I get one phone call a week. Last week, I called you. This week I can call someone else."

I look past him at the guard who is standing on the other side of the glass window only sort of watching us. I look at him hard for a minute because if I keep looking at my little brother, I'll jump across the table and strangle him.

"Fine, I can wait another week," I tell Dally. For just an instant, I see his eyes grow wide with panic. Then they narrow again. He thinks I'm bluffing. I wish to hell I was.

"When am I going to call my girl?"

"I don't know. When _are_ you going to do that? Chicks dig boys with jobs, Dal. She might appreciate it too if you lined something up."

He curses under his breath. He's beginning to squirm. I'll bet he hasn't had a cigarette in a couple of days. I got a pack for him in the back pocket of my jeans, but I ain't ready to show those cards quite yet.

The guard raps his knuckles on the door. I stand up and Dally does too. Still not as tall as me and he probably never will be. My father was an easy six-two. Dally's dad is a little weasel of a guy. That reminds me:

"Your old man still in town?"

"What do you want with him?"

"Didn't say I wanted anything. Just asking the question."

"He's around. He's got a place in a flop-house downtown."

I take the pack of cigarettes from my back pocket and toss them on the table between me and Dally. He gives me a funny look. He wants them, but he's afraid it's some kind of trap. It is.

"You happen to know the name of said flop-house?"

"It's on Pearson, above a pawnshop called Dexter's." He snatches the cigarettes.

"Thank you," I say to him. It's meant as a reminder that he should be thanking me. Dally doesn't take the hint. "I'll see you next week."

The guard opens the door just as my brother hisses an "awe, fuck you, Galen." The guard looks at me as if to ask if I want him to do something. I could care less, and I know that anything he does ain't going to make any difference to Dally either.

* * *

><p>Buck's Roadhouse is a little closer to what a body might call 'swinging' when I finally get back to it. Getting back was an adventure in itself without Lorelei to drive me. I did find a Ma and Pa sort of diner on Pearson across from the boarding house where Dally said his old man was living. I sat in the window and ate pie and staked out the place like some kind of Sam Spade. I didn't see Dal's old man, though, and I can't say I know what I'd have done if I did.<p>

There must be thirty trucks parked outside of Buck's when I get there. I can't imagine where all those people would fit inside the joint, and I hope that Buck is a scrupulous enough individual not to give up my room. I look around for Lorelei's truck in the lot, but I don't see it.

Back inside, I ask Buck for a bottle of whatever.

"No Coke this time, I take it?" He asks, grinning. If you want to call it a grin- it doesn't seem like the same emotion without the teeth there. I shake my head.

"Take it you saw Dallas."

"That I did."

"Yeah, I'd drink too." He slides a fifth of bourbon across the bar towards me.

"You the one he claims to do some work for now and then?" I ask him.

"He claims he's working?"

"Said he was- now and then. It ain't the kind of work that would've landed him in the pokey, is it?"

Buck takes offense to that. He scowls down at the bar.

"Now and then, he rides for me, and he's good enough at doing it that we never even had to fix nothing. You want to know why he's locked up, you can ask her."

He nods across the smoke-filled room. At first, I can hardly make out who he's nodding at. She must have seen his gesture though because she comes towards me out of the smoke. She becomes more of a vision the clearer she gets- a sweet and innocent look about her- like no girl I'd ever peg for having a thing with my brother.

She walks right on past me and says to Buck, "What now?"

"This gentleman would like to ask you a few questions," Buck tells her, grinning, and turns away.

The girl plants her hands on her hips and looks up at me. Christ, how I'd love to be planting my hands on her hips too. A silence ensues while I'm caught up looking dumb.

She breaks it by asking, "You a cop?"

"No, ma'am."

She rolls her eyes. "Ugh, a cowboy. Even worse. What do you want?"

"Want to buy you a drink," I tell her. That's not really what I intended to do at all, but I've lost my train of thought. My head full of questions just disappeared into the smoke above our heads. All I can think to do is buy the girl a drink.

The girl shrugs. She's got puppy dog-brown eyes that would sparkle if she'd quit rolling them back up into her head. Her lipstick is too red. The only thing natural about her is her hair. She calls to mind Marilyn Monroe when she was still Norma Jean Whatever. After she did "Green Grass of Wyoming", photos surfaced of her when she was still an Artichoke Queen back in Castroville. The nudie pictures popped up then, too, but I prefer to think of her eternally as the Artichoke Queen. She was bright and giddy and smiling- her lipstick was too dark as well, and she had curly brown hair.

"I'm waiting," she says.

"For what?"

"For this drink you suggested, Cowboy. You don't think I'm going to drink that, do you?"

She gestures to the fifth in my hand. I can't help but smile. She wants some kind of lady's drink. She's intrigued enough that she wants me to believe she's never had a drink of bourbon from the bottle before.

"Whatever you want," I tell her. "Tell the man."

This pleases her. There's a cheerleader's spring in her step as she pops up on her toes to summon Buck. She asks for a lime vodka. Buck looks at me, I shrug, and he shrugs back.

"What's your name?" She asks me.

"Galen. What's yours?"

"Sylvia." She doesn't offer me her hand to shake or kiss or anything else. "What did you want to ask me about?"

My name doesn't ring any bells with her. Dally's never mentioned me. Girls remember that kind of thing- the names of all your brothers and sister and their birthdays and such. Either she isn't near the girlfriend that he claims she is or he hasn't let on that I exist. Or else she's a brilliant actress herself.

"Buck just said you knew your way around. I'm in town for a few days, and I don't know my way around. Buck said you might be available to keep me company."

She shoots Buck a wicked look as he hands over her lime vodka. Not having heard what I said, he recoils to the other end of the bar.

She takes a sip of her drink, keeping those brown eyes on me. The liquor doesn't so much as get a shudder from her.

"That's what he told you, did he? I'd keep you company? It ain't like that…"

She glances away from me and takes a deep, pouty breath, and it's all too clear to me that it's exactly like that.

"Really," I tell her. "Company's all I want. I want a tour guide. How much for you and me to just hang around and shoot the shit?"

"I don't know. Depends on how good you are at shooting the shit, I suppose. Anything else will cost you…"

"…of course."

"…and if something more lucrative comes along…"

"…you're free as a bird, Sylvia. I understand."

She frowns at me again over the lip of her glass. She'd be less weary of me if I'd suggested we go out back and do it in the alley. I wonder what my brother does to keep her around. I wonder if he even knows.

"You got a room?" She asks. "It's damned noisy down here if talking's what you want to do."

"Yeah, I got a room."

She nods. "I do, too, but it's taken at the moment."

Without any further invitation, she picks up her glass and starts towards the stairs. I wave to Buck to make her another one. When he has, I take the second glass and my bottle and follow her. I find her at the top of the stairs, peeking in the door of what must be her room. It's the one next to mine.

She's speaking to someone, but softly so I can't hear what she's saying. I tap her shoulder and point to my door. She nods. As I pass by her door, I hear Lorelie's bleary voice telling Sylvia to watch herself.


	4. Chapter 4

SE Hinton owns The Outsiders and Buck's. The lyrics, again, belong to Josh Ritter.

**Come and Find Me- Four**

_If I could trace the lines that ran  
>Between your smile and your sleight of hand<br>I would guess that you put something up my sleeve…_

"How old are you?" I think to ask Sylvia once I've got her inside my room with the door shut. A wiser man would have asked her before we got to this point. I'm hardly the love-at-first-sight kind of fool, but what man doesn't get dumb around a pretty woman?

Sylvia steps out of her shoes as she crosses the room. She sits down on the bed and tucks her feet up under herself. She looks like a girl at a slumber party ready to be entertained by her friend's confessions.

"Old enough," she says. Her voice and her wrinkled up little nose tell me she's irritated as hell by my question.

"Old enough for what? To buy your own ice cream? This your after-school job?"

"I'm nineteen," she says.

"Dare I ask what a pretty girl like you is doing in a place like this?"

"I thought we cleared that up downstairs. I also thought we agreed that if you were no good at conversation I could leave."

I make a sweeping gesture with my arm in the direction of the door. She stays sitting and doesn't call my bluff. I sit down on a chair across the room and unscrew the cap off of my bourbon.

"Well?" I say to her.

"I came in with some guys from Austin and didn't have the cash to move on. I'm trying to save up enough to move on."

"What's in Austin?"

"Nothing I want any part of."

I look her over again. I'd peg her for seventeen, maybe on the edge of eighteen. She isn't here by choice, but she has no inclination to go back where she came. She's a runaway. She hasn't figured out yet that the only place she's going to go doing what she's doing is another hole just like this one doing more of the same. She thinks there's a glittering city just over the next horizon.

"You going to tell me what _you're_ doing here?" She asks.

Already I'm in too deep for that. "No. I thought I'd let you guess."

"I hate guessing games. You want to listen to the radio?"

I raise my eyebrows at her. She must really hate guessing games. I nod towards the little radio on the bedside table.

She clicks it on and begins fiddling with the dial before she even knows what she's got tuned in.

"What do you want to listen to?" She asks.

"Ladies choice."

Without looking up at me, she says, "Don't patronize me. Don't be calling me a lady if that's not what you think."

"Fine," I tell her. "Sylvia's choice. Pick us out something nice, Sylvia, and let's see if you can dance like a lady."

That actually gets a smile from her. She leaves the dial on an old Elvis song. He's promising all kinds of things that I ain't ever going to promise to Sylvia. It's the kind of song that girls love and guys use to get in their pants.

"Shall we?" I ask her and hold my hand out for hers. She takes it and lets me pull her close. She stands on her toes, which she wouldn't have to do if she'd put her shoes back on.

I keep her pulled in pretty tight. She has to crane her neck to look up at me. She's small enough that my hand naturally falls only as low as her shoulder blades. It's about as innocent as dances come without a nun sticking a ruler in between us.

"How many guesses do I get?" She asks.

"What do you mean?"

"You said I had to guess what you were doing here. How many guesses?"

I look away from her, pretending to consider it.

"Three," I tell her.

"What do I get if I guess right?"

She won't ever guess right.

"The satisfaction of knowing that you're just that damned good."

"What do you get if I don't guess?"

"The satisfaction of knowing you're wrong."

She grins and looks down at our feet, shaking her head. Her curls jiggle. Her hair smells good.

"Rodeo," she says, and I shake my head.

"Construction, road construction."

"You're burning through your chances, girl. Think on it a second, will you? If I was here for road construction, the rest of the crew'd be here with me. I'll give you that one back. This ain't even any fun."

It is fun though. She can't look devious to save her life. It's like playing ball with a puppy. Her eyes dart here and there trying to guess which direction I'm going in.

"You hiding out? You running from the law?"

"You think I'd tell you if I was?"

"Damnit, you have to tell. You think I'm going to call the cops? I'd get hauled in too."

"No," I tell her, and add when she glares up at me with suspicion, "I am not on the run from the law. One more shot."

Elvis fades out and gives way to some girl group. I never liked this song. It's pleading and pathetic. I'd never want a girl who said those kinds of things to me.

Sylvia takes her last guess: "You're looking for a long, lost family member."

And it takes everything I got to keep from smiling and giving myself up. I know where she got the idea. She'd like to believe someone's out there looking for her, keeping her room just the way she left it, maybe lighting a few candles. She likes me better thinking that I might be the kind of guy who would search Heaven and earth for someone I'd lost.

"'Fraid not," I say.

"Shit," she says, and slaps her open hand- not too hard- on my chest. "Well, does that make you happy, then, knowing that I'm wrong?"

"Not really," I tell her. I step back to twirl her around and then nod towards my wallet on the dresser once I've pulled her close again. "But I got twenty-five bucks there that says you spend the night and we'll both be a whole lot happier."

* * *

><p>She's gone in the morning, but I'd guess she hasn't gone far. She went back to her own room next door and curled up with Lorelei. I imagine them like kittens keeping each other warm. They've made a haven in that room from all the men they can't trust and can't stand.<p>

I pull on my jeans and my shirt and step out into the hall. I pause a tick at Sylvia's door, but there's no noise coming from within. Downstairs, I can hear voices and smell coffee and the morning's first cigarettes.

Just as I get to the bottom of the stairs, Buck flies by and nearly plows me over. He doesn't so much as mutter, "'morning" or "excuse me". He's shouting back into the bar on his way towards the pool tables:

"Goddamnit, Lorelei, get on back upstairs, will you? I can't have you hanging around the bar like that."

"I ain't drinking," she answers without looking up. She's seated at a table near the jukebox playing cards with a kid who looks about as much a hood as I do a hayseed. She's taking him to the cleaners- slapping the cards down like there's no tomorrow- and he appears to be enjoying it. He isn't outright grinning, but there's a little smirk curling up on either end of his mouth. On the left side, it continues right on up to his temple in the form of a thick, poorly healed scar.

"She's drinking all your coffee," he calls out to Buck. "With all your sugar in it."

"Shut up," she tells him and he just laughs.

"Morning," I say to them both. Lorelei nods at her cards. The kid with the scar makes a quick assessment of me and doesn't think much of what he sees.

"Where's Sylvia?" He asks.

"And you are?"

"Mutual acquaintance. She upstairs yet?"

"He wants to know if Syl's in your room," Lorelei says, as if the kid is speaking in some foreign hood language and she's been called in to translate. She says to him, "your move, Tim."

"I fold," he tells her. He lays his cards down and stands up to greet me proper. "Is she?"

"She's upstairs," I tell him. He's younger than me and wiry. Still, he hunches when he walks like a cougar ready to spring. He could rip me apart if he was so inspired. The only thing saving me is Lorelei's distraction.

"Tim thinks he's Sylvia's guardian since Dal's gone. You make a move on Sylvia, he'll go scurrying downtown to tell."

Tim rolls his eyes. He doesn't quite strike me as the type to scurry, but there must be some truth to what Lorelei's said or he wouldn't look so annoyed.

"What if Sylvia were to make a move on me?" I ask him, smiling, just to yank his chain.

Tim opens his mouth to saying something smart, but Lorelei beats him to it: "He'd go running on downtown all the faster to rat on her."

He turns around to tell Lorelei to shut it. She's stood up and is now standing right beside him. Her sudden appearance there surprises him a little. She barely stands as high as his shoulder. She looks like a little girl grinning up at him. He grins back and my mind runs wild trying to guess what their relationship is to one another.

"Christ, would you…?" He can't threaten her with her smiling at him like that. They amuse the hell out of one another. They probably spend hours drinking coffee and playing cards together, both of them wishing things could be different between them.

"You can't talk to me that way, nephew," she says to him. She turns back to me, "Tell him she ain't in your room. Tell him so he'll shut up and I can go back to whipping his hind end at cards."

"If you was smart, little girl, you'd put your take there towards buying yourself some time. I'm just getting warmed up."

"Lulling me into a false sense of security?" She asks him. "You sound like my husband."

They go back to their table bickering with each other like that. Tim keeps his eye on me, though, as I go back to the bar and lean over after the coffee pot. I can feel him watching me. Lorelei's called him off, but he's still suspicious.

I pour myself a cup of coffee and raise the pot at them. Tim looks back down at his cards, irritated by my polite gesture. Lorelei doesn't turn around.

"She's good," Tim says.

"Damned right I am," Lorelei replies.

"Your coffee, stupid. I thought you was supposed to lay off that stuff."

She shrugs and tosses down a couple more cards. "But if I lay off it too fast, I get headaches. Then I wouldn't be able to beat you at cards."

That gets a smile from him. He glances up at me. "No more coffee for her then."

He's in love with Lorelei. It's as clear as that scar on his face. He looks rough, but he's still enough of a dumbass, innocent kid that he's run every possible fairytale scenario over in his head. It hurts him to look at her and makes him happier than he's ever been all at the same time.

She beats him again and announces that she's going to the ladies room. He tells her to let him know if she finds any ladies in there. When she's gone, he stands and joins me at the bar for the cup of coffee he wasn't going to drink in front of her.

"She your kin?" I ask him.

"Her? No, she calls any boy that's younger 'nephew'." He smirks and then gives me a dirty kind of wink. "She ain't my aunt."

"You met her old man?"

"Goddamn right, I have. A few times. Wasn't around the last time, though." He goes silent for a bit. "Sylvia called the cops and got him hauled in. That dumb, little broad- I wish she'd left him to me."

"So, you're baiting him?"

He frowns at me, like he doesn't know what I'm getting at. He even goes so far as to ask the question, "how do you mean?"

"Come on, we both know he's going to come after you when he gets sprung. A guy like that, you so much as tip your hat and say good morning to his girl, and he'll blow a gasket. And it looks to me like you've been doing plenty more than that."

"Christ, man," he sneers at me. "Look at her. She's big as a barn. What am I going to do with her?"

"You tell me."

Tim takes a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket, shakes one out, and sticks it between his lips. Then he goes on an overly long search through his pockets looking for a lighter. It's all a drawn-out act to avoid looking at me.

"She ain't my girl," he says when he gets his cigarette lit. "And we ain't any of your business. Don't you have your brother to attend to? What- you think she didn't tell me?"

"She going to tell Sylvia?"

"No, between us, we kind of figured that was your problem."

"Well, just as long as you don't expect me to believe that's all there is between the two of you."

It feels good to threaten him, although I know I don't have a thing to hold over their heads. I ain't met Lorelei's old man, but I know I don't like him. She and Tim are in a hole. It ain't right of me to remind Tim that there's nothing he can do about it, but it feels good to do it anyway.


	5. Chapter 5

SE Hinton owns The Outsiders.

**Come and Find Me- Five**

Ten o'clock rolls on by and Sylvia still doesn't make an appearance. Whether she's avoiding me or just doesn't rise before noon makes no difference to me. I don't require her company where I'm going.

It's already hot and Pearson Street smells like urine. It's not a good combination. I consider taking it as an omen that I shouldn't be here at all- not like I have a clue what I'm doing- but I choose instead to ignore it and try not to inhale.

The inside of the boarding house where Dally said his dad was staying isn't much of an improvement. I climb the flight up stairs to the second story, stepping over a couple of inhabitants who couldn't pay for their rooms the night before.

The manager sits at a desk behind a glass window. It strikes me funny that he's the one in a cage and his tenants roam free. He seems satisfied enough with it. He's happy to be reading the paper and annoyed with me when I distract him from it.

"I'm looking for someone," I tell him. "An old man."

"Santa Claus ain't in."

"No, I'd expect not. I'm looking for a gentleman named Frank Byers."

"You the law?"

"Is Frank expecting the law?"

The manager glares at me. "You're a shitty detective, boy."

"Good thing I've chosen to drive cattle then. Frank's my stepdad."

I rarely call him such, only in emergencies like when I need to visit him in the hospital or jail or get past the gatekeeper in a rooming house.

"Lucky old you," the manager says. "Yeah, Frank's here. I can't promise you he's in any mood to receive guests."

"He'll receive me. I'm family."

But I'm not. I never liked Frank. I'm not sure my mother even liked Frank. I'll been around the block enough to know that sometimes liking a person is low on the list of reasons to sleep with them. I wish I didn't know that about my own mother, though.

It won't be any kind of familial bond that draws Frank to see me. It'll be the reason that Dally's willing to see me- I got money.

The manager tells me the room number and waves his hand towards another flight of stairs. Before I can't thank him, he adds, "Frank's behind."

"Behind what?" I ask him, grinning. I know full well what he means. The manager's got a bead on me same as Frank and Dally.

"He's behind about fifteen dollars. Being as you're his boy and all…"

I take out my wallet and slide the cash inside the cage. "I ain't his boy. I'm someone else's boy."

"Well, you're a fair piece more agreeable than the other one he's got," the manager says. "Ain't seen that one in a while. I don't like having kids in here, but I think he's long since quit being a kid. Used to let him stay now and again."

"He's got himself another place to stay," I tell the manager. Somehow, when someone acts like they might care, I start feeling embarrassed about telling them.

I climb the next set of stairs. Frank, it would seem, has himself the penthouse suite. His room is on the fourth floor in a corner of the building which means Frank even has two windows. If he decides to jump, he's got himself choices.

This morning, however, Frank isn't exactly jumping to do anything. His door ain't even all the way shut. He's asleep where he fell- at least he made it to the bed- with his clothes still on. I step inside the room and knock on the wall above his head.

"Wake up, old man. I just paid your rent. The least you can do is allow me the honor of buying you breakfast."

He grumbles and rolls over. For a second, he isn't sure who I am.

"You need some light?" I ask him. "Let me get the shade here."

I reach over him to tug at the cord on the blind. All too late, Frank panics. He shakes his hands at me and babbles an incomprehensible string of word- incomprehensible save for the curses. I let go of the cord and the shade flies up, flooding the room with sunlight. Frank recoils with his hands over his face like he's Max Shreck.

"The light, the light!" I sing-song. "Come on, old man. If you think you're brave enough to face it, there's coffee across the street."

It takes him a couple of minutes to find his bearings. Once he does, and he gets himself upright, his sunny disposition returns with all the force of a firing squad.

"Goddamnit, Galen, where the hell have you been?"

"Where the hell have_ I_ been? I seem to recall you being the one who left."

"I been here the whole time while you've been out wandering creation. Same with your brother."

"He's been here the whole time, or he's been wandering creation?"

Frank swats at me as he follows me down the stairs. "He's been here. I put him in school. He's got himself some friends, or so he tells me."

"How long ago did he tell you that?" I ask. "'Cause he's in jail right now."

Frank hmmm's to himself. "That must be what the truant officer was here for."

"That'd be my guess. The truant officer give the thumbs up to your digs, then?"

"I don't give a damn what he thinks of them. Don't give a damn what you think either, so you can just put a clamp on that smart mouth of yours."

We've reached the outside door. I hold it open for him. Again, he shudders hard in the sunlight. It's not as amusing to me this time. I'm getting impatient.

"Spoken like a man who doesn't want pancakes," I taunt him.

"Just coffee will do," he says.

Once inside the diner, it becomes clear that Frank smells. The odor of the boarding house itself over-powered him while we were still in it. He's been wearing the same clothes for a week and sweating out vodka. I find us a table in the corner far from the other patrons.

Frank orders his coffee. I order breakfast and then sandwiches to take back to the castaways at Buck's. It'll be past lunch time by the time I get back. I can't say whether Sylvia can be tempted by food, but I'm certain Lorelei will eat.

"So, when's the last time you seen him?" I ask Frank.

"Couple of weeks, but that ain't nothing. Like I said, he's got friends. Couches it there when he needs to."

"I saw him yesterday."

"That a fact?"

"Yeah, he wanted me to bail him and I sort of promised I would if he'd line up a job for when he got out."

Frank is amused by the idea. "Would hire him for anything?"

"No, but I know him. Maybe if he applied with strangers, people unaware of his sensitive nature."

"So you're going to bail him and you're going to see to it he's working?" Frank asks.

"He's going to see to it that he's working. I'm just seeing to it that he sees to it."

"Goddamn, Galen. I ain't drunk enough to listen to you carry on. Whatever the case, if you're doing what you're doing, why are you coming around bothering me?"

"You mean, why am I coming around to pay your rent and buy you coffee?"

Frank sets his coffee down, as if in protest.

I tell him, "I thought I'd just check to see that, when I bail Dally, he's got a place to come home to."

"I told you, he's got friends with a couch."

I'm done. I still got food on my plate, but I'm done. He's fulfilled every suspicion I had and more. I can go for months, even years without giving a damn whether my brother's alive or dead, but I can't stand it when someone else does the same- most especially his own father. I had a father of my own once. I know it ain't supposed to be like this.

I wave to the waitress to bring the bagged up sandwiches. When she does, I take one out of the sack and chuck it at Frank.

"I said I just wanted coffee," he mutters.

"One of us has to be thinking about him," I tell him and head for the door. I leave my tip for the waitress on the counter on the way out. If I left it on the table, I'm sure Frank would steal it.


	6. Chapter 6

SE Hinton owns The Outsiders and Bucks.

**Come and Find Me- Six**

I'm drained and angry after my conversation with Frank. I got no inclination to walk back to Buck's. I get as far as the street that becomes the highway leading north out of town and stick my thumb out. It takes maybe ten minutes. Tulsans are a suspicious bunch, I guess.

The car that slows down for me is driven by a man in a suit. At first glance I take him for a preacher, and I'm not sure I could handle that noise right now. I ask him outright to avoid any hurt feelings:

"You a preacher?"

"Why?" He asks. "Are you a sinner?"

"From what I understand, we all are. Do you sell stuff?"

"Do _you_? Do you want a ride or not, boy? I pulled over to give you a lift, not to take the census."

I nod and smile at him and get in.

"I suppose I should've asked you if you're a highway robber or a habitual killer."

"I suppose you should have," I tell him, but I shake my head give the guy a grin to put his mind at ease.

* * *

><p>Buck isn't behind his own bar when I get back there. No sign of Sylvia either. The coffee is gone and I can't hear anything that qualifies as kitchen noises. I'm hungry again, but not hungry enough to demand someone come and make me something.<p>

I round the corner to go upstairs and stumble upon Tim and Lorelei standing in the doorway to the backroom. He's cupping her chin in his hand and grinning down at her. She's been crying.

"It don't matter," he's telling her. "You still have pretty lips. That's what I'm always looking at."

"I'm scared. He's out day after tomorrow. He'll come after you."

"Let him come."

"You don't get it, Tim. I don't want you to hurt him."

"No, I _don't_ get it. He hurt you. He's hurt you plenty. He'll kill Dally if he gets a chance. Who else do I got?"

I lean against the door frame and let it squeak. They both jump a little. Lorelei tries to jump away from Tim- her trigger response to being caught talking to anybody. Tim straightens up to his full height. He stretches his arms and hangs on either side of the doorway, hovering over Lorelei.

"Why's your old man going to kill Dally, Lorelei?" I ask her.

Tim answers for her: "Because Dal's the one who fought him off the last time. I wasn't there. Dal laid into him. Sylvia called the cops because she's dumb enough to think that- when the cops show up and see two guys fighting- they're going to care which one was the one beating up on his girl."

"Dally had a bench warrant," Lorelei adds. "He got more days."

I nod.

"So you two got a day and a half to get out of town, I take it?"

"She needs to go," Tim says. "She wants to go home to have her baby."

"What about you?"

"I got shit to attend to here. I can't just leave."

"Not yet or not ever?" I keep pushing him. They've had this conversation between them, I'm sure, but it's come to nothing in the past. They duke it out and then go back to drinking coffee and playing cards. I want to see- if someone backs him up against the proverbial wall- Tim really intends to take care of this girl.

"What goddamned business is it of yours?" Tim asks me. "For that matter, I ought to be asking you what you're still doing here? I know who you are. You think she didn't tell me?"

I smile at Lorelei who is looking at the ground. She's not frightened or ashamed. It's part of who she is to not make eye contact with men.

"You going to tell Sylvia?" I ask either one of them.

Tim lets go of the door frame and launches himself towards me. He isn't coming at me, though. He brushes past me and continues down the hall.

"I ain't said shit," he mumbles. Farther down the hall he shouts back, "That's what I don't get, though. Why are you sticking around? You ain't bailed him, but you keep going back to see him. What the hell you two got to talk about- the girl you're sharing?"

I turn my attention to Lorelei. She's got her hands on her belly and she's rubbing in circles like she's trying to get a clear image from a crystal ball. She winces and I ask her:

"It ain't time for that, is it?"

She shakes her head. "No, just kicks me whenever there's shouting. They told me he'd get quiet for a couple of days before. I guess he needs to rest up before he comes out and hits the outside."

"He'd better," I say.

I stand there until we both get uncomfortable. I want for all the world for her to say something. Of all these people, she's the only one whose opinion makes a difference to me. She's the moral compass. She's the one who guides them, the one they'd all do anything for.

"Lorelei, where is it you need to go back to?"

"Just shy of the Kansas side. It ain't far, but this is as far as I always get. I don't want them to see me like this, so I always quit and then Robert catches up to me."

"They ain't going to care, kid. They'll just be happy to have you back. Don't you want all your family around you spoiling that baby?"

She nods at the floor.

"Why don't you let me take you, and then I'll bring your old man's truck back. You won't have anything that belongs to him and he won't have any more reason to come after you."

"I'll have his baby."

"You'll have your family around you. Shit, Lorelei, I been up in your neck of the woods. It's a whole lot of goddamned nothing. Make the son of a bitch disappear."

She finds that worth breaking her code for and looks up at me. She narrows her eyes. The bruises below them are still visible, but the swelling has gone down.

"And then what would I tell my baby?"

"Why would you have to tell him anything?"

"Because," she says, "he'll see it on me, like a mark. He'll look at me and he'll know. I'd have to tell."

I ask her, "What do you see when you look at me?"

Lorelei casts her eyes to the floor again, and shakes her head. I can't tell if it's with disapproval or if the image is not clear enough for her to read.

* * *

><p>Buck is still gone, so I can only guess Tim helped himself to the beer he's drinking. I don't understand how Buck runs his bar. I can only guess it's horses he's running right now. One venture is bankrolling the other. Dally's working for him in the rodeo. Tim ain't any kind of cowboy. He must be caught up in something to do with the bar.<p>

I don't work for Buck, though, so I don't help myself to the beer. I sit down across from Tim at the table where he's sitting. I toss out a couple of cards, but neither of us makes any move to deal. I tell him:

"Seems to me there's two things need to be accomplished here. May I suggest you take her on back up north and I'll do the other. I got no ties here. No one knows me save the people in this bar and Dally. Take your girl on back up north. Maybe you'll like it there."

"Maybe, maybe not."

"Well, you'll have the truck. You can always come back."

He nods. "Anything you need help with?"

"Nope. I got some experience in this area. It'll be best for all of us if you and her are just as far away as possible."

"What about Sylvia?"

"I'll talk to Sylvia," I tell him. I could kick myself for saying it. Now that I've said it, I'm going to have to actually talk to her. I don't like to lie. She's going to be the only still waiting here when Dally gets out. I'd better make sure she's good and mad at me.


	7. Chapter 7

SE Hinton owns The Outsiders.

**Come And Find Me- Seven**

My experience in this area goes back almost ten years now. I couldn't tell you why it comes so easy to me. I'm not proud of it, but I keep doing it just the same just like I keep drinking and hopping from girl to girl. The best I been able to do with it is be choosey. I could've offed that fella who gave me a ride- the one who asked if I was a habitual killer. The simple fact that he asked might have made some other guy paranoid- could he see it on me the way Lorelei is convinced her baby would see evil on her like a mark?

They can't see it on you. Otherwise, I'd be locked up or electrocuted a long time ago. I'd be dripping with it. I'd leave a trail of it behind me like an oil slick.

My intention, with Dally safely in jail, was to do Frank. Then I met Lorelei. I figured maybe I could put my skills to better use with Robert. I went and overplayed my hand with Frank's landlord anyway. Introduced myself as his son, paid his rent, made myself pretty goddamned memorable. Thus Frank will live to see another bottle.

I head up to my room and stay there. Business picks up in the evening just like it did the night before. I got no interest in going down stairs and being part of the din. I want quiet. On and off I want Sylvia, but not bad enough to go looking for her.

I nod off for a while and voices from the room next door wake me up. It's Tim and Lorelei. She's arguing with him every step of the way, but he's got her packing. They get quiet and the shuffle of packing stops. They must be kissing. She speaks to him again. It's garbled and I realize she's speaking her language. He answers her- in English, still- but he understood what she was saying.

I can't help but smile at that. It's worse than I thought. He knows her well enough that he's picked up her language. Makes me wonder whose baby she has.

They leave the room and descend the stairs. Because of her, they both take them slow. I try to listen for the sound of that truck starting up. I can't separate it from the rumble downstairs or the growing ringing in my ears. My ears start to ring whenever I sit down to plan one of these things out. It gets worse every time. It keeps me from over planning, I'd guess. It's when you get trapped into a pattern- get predictable- that it all comes crashing down.

* * *

><p>I get up bright and early for visiting hours at the jail. There's no one making coffee downstairs this time. Tim and Lorelei have stayed gone, and I've relieved to know it. I can hear Buck in the back room. He hears me too because he yells out do I need the room for another night.<p>

"Yes, sir," I tell him. "One more night."

He appears in the doorway behind the bar. His hand is newly bandaged and he's having a hell of a time opening a jar of pickles because of it. I reach out for the jar and he hands it to me.

"Going to see Dal?" He asks and thanks me when I hand the jar back.

"Yeah. Way to start the morning off right, ain't it?"

"You going to bail him?"

"For part of it. I figure I got enough to cut it down by half. He's still going to have to sit for a few days more, though."

Buck grins at that. "That's going to piss him off."

"Yeah, well that's all I got to give," I tell him. "He wants a pink carnation and a ride home, he needs to find himself a different benefactor."

I should have asked about Sylvia before I left Buck's, but I didn't think to. Now, here she comes- all dolled up and curls bouncing- down the jailhouse steps towards me. I thought I was doing good being up as early as I was to get to visiting hours, but she was up earlier than me.

When she sees me, she stops bouncing. I can almost see the thoughts flying past her eyes. Her fight-or-flight sensibilities have been switched on by someone. I don't really want to have this discussion with her, but I don't want her running away from me back into the police station either. I stay put and let her decide if she's going to come to me or not.

She decides she wants a fight.

She comes down the steps slowly; she's almost stomping. When she gets close enough to look me in the eye, she stops and does that. She looks me over for a bit, shakes her head, and then gives me the back of her hand just like I figured she would.

"Who are you?" It starts as a scream but ends in a choke.

It's my guess, since she's coming at me with her claws out, that she already knows the answer. The real question now is who told her. I take a quick gander over who knows I'm here and who knows who I am. The only ones who my connection to Dallas are Lorelei, Tim and Dally himself.

I wasn't expecting this. She's genuinely hurt. She's breathing heavy, trying not to cry. I can see the tears welled up in those big brown eyes. If they spill, a whole hell of a lot of mascara's going to come down with them. She's going to try her damnedest to keep that from happening.

"My name's Galen…" I start to tell her.

"You're Dally's brother. You're his brother."

"What difference does it make?"

"If it made no difference, then why didn't you tell me? You always knew who I was, but you didn't let on. That's not fair."

She spits it out like an angry child. Fair? She's hardly the kind of girl who should be so naïve to believe that there's such a thing as fairness. She knows the world doesn't work that way, but- every now and then- she meets someone she thinks she can expect it from. I guess I was one of those people. She was wrong, though.

"Dally's my brother." I confirm it for her. "You said he didn't mean nothing to you. You let me pick you up. You told me…"

"And you just figured me being a tramp and all that it didn't matter what you told me?"

"Well, kind of."

That's not the truth either. The truth is I want to put as much distance between myself and her as I can. It's better for all of us that way. I can't begin to imagine what she's been imagining about me, but the truth is so much worse. Here she is giving me hell for not being fair. I think I'm a very fair guy. Fairness ain't my problem.

Sylvia chokes back a sob. She wipes away the first of the tears with the back of her hand. Then her eyes grow hard.

"I'm going to tell him to beat the shit out of you. He's going to clean your clock."

"Who? Dally?"

"No, asshole. Buck. Buck ain't going to let you get away with this."

"Is that so?" I got nothing to fear from Buck in a fair fight. He's taller than me, but thinner. His reaction time is slow. My biggest fear in a fight with Buck is that he knows people and he might not come alone.

"Yeah, that's so."

"And why would Buck do that for you, honey?"

"He'd do it for Dally. If I ask him to, if Dal tells him to, he'll tear you apart."

The threat gets more and more empty the more she adds to it. She can't just snap her fingers and make Buck clean my clock; he'll need Dally's okay to do it. She doesn't control anything.

"I have trouble believing that knowing would have made any difference," I tell her.

"It would have made plenty."

"You wouldn't have…?"

"I would've known. You wouldn't be a liar."

"Sylvia, I'm going to go see my little brother now. I'm going to put some money down so he'll get his release in a few days. Then you can have him back. I'll be long gone by then, and you can forget all about me."

She shakes her head. She starts to walk away from me down the stairs, waving me away with her hand even though I'm not following.

"It don't matter anymore, Galen," she says. "He knows. He knows."

I watch her walk down to the sidewalk. She's still with it enough to look both ways before she crosses the street. She keeps walking down the street and I'd like for that to be the last I saw of her. I'd like to remember her that way because she looks great from behind and because I can commit to memory those curls and that white sweater- pristine like the Artichoke Queen, not crying and beat down by me and my asshole brother and the rest of the world.

Ain't that the thing about life though: long as we're bent on fucking each other over, no one gets what they want.

* * *

><p>"You know what, man?" Is Dally's 'good morning' for me. "Maybe you ought to just keep your bail money 'cause if they let me out of here the first thing I'm going to do is kick your ass."<p>

"That had occurred to me," I tell him. "I have a plan for that."

"You expect me to believe you're just a sucker for a pretty girl? After all this time? You just like to stir up shit, Galen. You ain't any different than me."

Except it is the pretty girl that I'm a sucker for. It just ain't the pretty girl he thinks it is. It's the boy, too- both of them actually. I'm a sucker all right. The goddamned things we do for love.

Dally snorts. He'd spit if that guard wasn't watching him through the window.

He says, "Syl's got something of mine. I want it back. Tell her. She'll know what I'm talking about."

"I ain't going to see Sylvia again. I'm headed out tomorrow. Soon as I tie up a few things."

"Well, you're done as far as I'm concerned, Galen."

I nod.

"I won't be seeing you for a while," I tell him.

"You don't need to be seeing me at all," he says.

He gets his wish. When I call back up to Buck's in September, my brother's dead, shot down by the cops. Buck seems broken up about it. He starts to tell me that Dally done the right thing, but then he just quits and says, "Here. Talk to this asshole."

The asshole in question is Tim.

"You didn't stay with Lorelei."

"No," he says. "Not that time. I'm thinking of going back up. Her old man up and ran off. Shit, you must've put the fear of God into him, man. My hat's off to you. Last time I seen her, she changed her name back. Changed her baby's name, too."

"What's his name?"

Tim cackles quietly. "He wasn't a him. She was wrong about that all along. Had a girl. Her name's Lucinda. Lucinda Blackbird. How the hell do you like that?"

"I like it," I tell him. He figures he does too. I ask if Sylvia's around anyplace. He tells me she's long gone, but he doesn't know where.

"Well," I say. "Maybe we'll cross paths. Maybe she'll even be happy to see me after a time."

"Yeah, and maybe it'll rain blood and hail toads, Galen. That might happen too."

He hangs up without saying goodbye, another habit- I've learned in my travels- that he's picked up from Lorelei's people. He never puts Buck back on the line either. I never find out what it was- the thing Dally did right.


End file.
